


Bluster

by ivy



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:16:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivy/pseuds/ivy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New France is built partly by the coureurs des bois and the fur trade - but this changes with the dragons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bluster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MmeBahorel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MmeBahorel/gifts).



My dearest brother:

Papa has permitted me to use his ink and pen to write you, though Marie was skeptical and said mighten't I blunt the tip (I said no and Marie gave up in the end and went away. She said she had to go consult maman and that I wasn't to wait.) I asked Papa when the letter might arrive and he wouldn't answer me for the longest time but in the end he said that it might be Christmas-time, so I am wishing you a merry Christmas. Does Christmas have an h?

Maman has said that I must hurry, or else the letter will never be finished and the post never sent, so I have a list of questions. What is new france like? Does it go on forever? Have you met an Indian yet? Have you seen a bear? Was it big?

Yours truly,  
Yvette

*

"This was a mistake," said Francois bitterly, sheltering under the wings of Annette. The high, blustery wind was sweeping all the warmth from his body, and Annette, large as she was, fared no better. They were on one of the innumerable rises that dotted the otherwise flat landscape; clumps of vegetation, bleached yellow by the cold, bloomed in tufts here and there. His foot came down on a dead patch that crackled as he shifted his weight. "It's too early in the season for this."

"That's what you wanted," said his younger brother with unruffled calm. Jean-Pierre, too, was standing under Annette's wing, hands tucked under arms for warmth. A carefully judged silence fell, before he said: "We should set out again."

Francois grunted. The dispatch in his pocket felt heavy, weighted, and he did not particularly wish to move. The warm rose flank of Annette expanded and contracted steadily, so he did not even have an excuse of letting her rest. "Fine," he said with resignation.

He climbed awkwardly atop Annette's back, and they took off, following Jean-Pierre and his dragon. Annette, like Jean-Pierre's Kyrie, had been laden with furs. It was worth it - it was, he told himself. In the winter the other men could not come down so far, not unless they wished to portage the entire length of the continent and carry their burdens on their backs. No, it was better to come now in the winter, where he might buy and sell without competition. And indeed, it had paid off in the end; his father was loath to mention it, but they were petty shopkeepers and any tiny change of fortune would send them tumbling down. With his wages Papa had moved their family elsewhere, nearer the city center. Marie had attracted the eye of a suitor who was, for the first time, more wealthy than she. And Yvette - he did not think Yvette noticed, of course, but they had eaten better - expanded the storefront - bought new furniture.

*

Francois:

The last letter you sent us was well received - it arrived just past the New Year and both your sisters were pleased with the news - they are agog, Yvette especially, to know of what you think of the interior. You say you are eating well, but please, have a care. These are hard times and more than one death has come out of that fearful wilderness.

[...]

The price of furs has gone up again; beaver in especial quantities, and even fox and lynx. Yvette is asleep, but Maries sends her love and wishes you to remember her when you fly. I do not think that she has gotten over your leaving her and taking both dragons.

With love,  
Maman

*

"Now what?"

Jean-Pierre, looking over at his comment, dropped the bundle. Francois watched as he bent slowly, painfully, and picked it up again; those fur were capable of crushing a small child. It gave Francois a tiny bit - only a sliver - of satisfaction that even his sibling could not live a winter as a voyageur and survive unscathed. He walked over as Jean-Pierre hefted the bundle. Kyrie rolled his eyes and looked like he wanted to get out of the way, but bent obligingly. "I'll get on," offered Francois hurriedly. His fool brother would break something if he tried this by himself...he scrambled up the dragon's warm side and grasped the rough bundle of furs, keeping his footing with difficulty.

"That's the last of them, I hope," muttered Francois, and was reassured to see Jean-Pierre nod.

"Not a bad trip altogether," Jean-Pierre said. Annette was carrying the bulk of their bundles, being one of the breeds created specifically for weight, but even the light speed-bred Kyrie was bearing his share of the stinking bundles. "We'll be there in a few weeks."

"Weeks," echoed Francois. Then he straightened, taking the letter from his mother out of his pocket, and thrusting it in Jean-Pierre's direction. "It's another packet from home." There was a thin skin of frozen ice over the snow, and he poked at it with the toe of his boot. He had long dropped the heavy soles and awkward boots of France and used the thinner leather shoes that so many of the Indians used. He would have to buy a pair of those boots and wear them when he got home, and wasn't looking forward to the process of pretending he hadn't changed.

He turned to find Jean-Pierre absorbed in the letter, head bowed. The wind that scraped the snow-bound land made the paper edges flap, but he couldn't read the expression in Jean's face.

"It doesn't mention Joanne," said Francois helpfully, and Jean-Pierre gave him a glare.

"I know."

He wandered to Annette's side, who looked to be asleep on her feet. Thick, scaly eyelids were shut tight against the wind, but with the harness and packages already loaded, she looked like a packhorse. He sighed, the sound lost in the general clamour. Gently, he stroked the very tip of her nose.

A sudden break in the clouds made the air feel suddenly alive, and he opened his eyes to find that Jean-Pierre had stuffed the letter somewhere and that the sun was out. Far and away, a dark smudge that was a clump of trees signalled the very beginngs of the forest. They were leaving the prairies behind. He cleared his head and climbed on top of the snuffling Annette. "Let's go," shouted Francois, and took off home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to #yuletide and especially Trialia for help with names!


End file.
